


Once a Century

by KitMiller



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Attempts at humour, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In a way, Memory Loss, Team as Family, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, because this is TOG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitMiller/pseuds/KitMiller
Summary: You know those Very Good fics where one of the team loses their memory and it's all very angsty and Good?Well, this is not that kind of fic.
Relationships: Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Nile Freeman, Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 17
Kudos: 219





	1. Part One: Nicky

**Author's Note:**

> This work as a whole features descriptions of and references to violence, injuries, and gore. 
> 
> Features bits of non-English dialogue, because I didn't suffer through six years of mandatory French classes without putting them to good use. Translations are in the end notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to the content warnings of the work as a whole, this particular chapter additionally features one instance of vomiting.
> 
> This was supposed to be crack but then I caught the Booker feels! Also, please keep in mind that Booker is an unreliable narrator and do not take any of his assessments, especially of Joe, without a healthy amount of grains of salt!

_Paris, 1820_

"Nicolas." Booker shook Nicky, who was lying in a pool of blood slowly oozing in all directions under his head. "Nicolas. Joseph will kill me if you're dead," he said in French.

Nicky still didn't stir.

Booker sighed and leaned against the damp wall. Andy, Nicky, and Joe weren't even on a mission, they had just run into him by chance, Booker having once again been thrown out by Matthieu, his eldest, 'until he stopped being a drunkard and a forger and a coward.' He had ended up in Paris, because everyone with nothing left but a broken heart and alcohol ended up in Paris, had found the others, they had found him, they had got piss drunk. Andy and Joe were — somewhere, and Booker and Nicky had got themselves involved in a drunken brawl behind the pub that had culminated with Nicky getting bludgeoned to death and Booker nearly so.

Nicky started to twitch. Thank God. Booker wasn't keen on Joe killing him for not taking proper care of Nicky. He wouldn't listen that it had been Nicky himself who had insisted on joining the fray and that there had been nothing Booker could have done about it.

" _T'as bien dormi, mon ami_?" Booker said tiredly when Nicky curled up on himself in pain. "You should see the other guys."

Nicky groaned and sat up. He blinked rapidly; there was blood on his eyelids, and he ineffectively rubbed at them. His eyes fell on Booker. " _Tu chi sei_?"

Booker flinched. His heart started beating so fast he heard the blood rush in his ears. Andy had told him the immortality wasn't infinite. Was this it for Nicky? "I'm Sébastien," he said in Italian, holding out his hands like he would to a scared animal. "Don't you remember me?"

Nicky shook his head, then winced and pressed the back of a hand to his forehead. He must be having the headache of a lifetime. Booker glanced at where the divot in the side of Nicky's head was closing, and quickly averted his eyes before he felt sick.

"Where am I?" Nicky asked, in French this time. He still had his eyes shut tightly.

"Paris," Booker replied. 

"Who am I?"

Booker choked on his answer. _You're my brother and you're scaring the shit out of me right now._ "Nicolas," he replied instead. "You go by Nicolas here."

Nicky frowned, eyes still closed. "Where is —" he stopped himself. "Where —" he grunted in frustration. He finally opened his eyes and looked at Booker. 

Booker felt like he was being punched in the throat. Nicky's eyes were full of confusion and uncertainty. It didn't belong in those eyes, it was _wrong_ there, like an illness, a tumor. It was more grotesque than the dent in his skull.

" _Chi sei_?"

Booker almost sobbed. "Sébastian. _Sono_ Sébastian." How on earth was he going to explain this to Joe? How on earth was he going to explain to Joe that Nicky was — was gone?

Nicky looked around. The wound in his head had healed completely. "Where am I?" he asked again, this time in Italian.

"Paris," Booker said again.

"Paris?" Nicky rubbed at his eyelids again and muttered in French, "Why on earth would I want to be in Paris?"

Booker really wished he had an answer. Really, why would anyone want to be in Paris? He clambered to his feet. He needed to find Joe and Andy. He needed to tell them that — that Nicky — 

"Eh! Andy! I found 'em!"

Booker raised his head despite the roaring pounds of protest the movement shot into his temples. There, in the opening of the alleyway, backlit like they had a goddamn halos, were Andy and Joe.

Booker had never been so relieved and terrified at the same time.

When Nicky spotted Joe, he scrambled to his feet and promptly fell over. He didn't let it deter him. "There's something I have to tell you," he said, struggling to get back up.

"And what's that?" Joe asked, helping him stand. 

Nicky stared at him so intensely Booker was certain his eyes were boring holes into Joe's skull. "I love you," Nicky said. 

Joe grinned. "I love you too."

Nicky smiled that tiny little smile that was as good as a full-blown grin for him. "Who are you?"

Joe took a step back in surprise. He frowned, and reached out. Nicky let him turn his head without protest. When Joe found the drying blood and bits of bone and brain in Nicky's hair, he cringed. "Aw, damn."

"He doesn't remember," Booker said, the words tripping over themselves in their haste to get to Joe. "I don't know why, or how, or —"

" _Du calme_ , Sébastien." Joe gave him a smile, his fingers absently combing through Nicky's hair. "Thanks for taking care of him," and wasn't that the most random thing to possibly say while picking bone fragments and blood clots out of your lover's hair?

"No, Joseph, you don't understand," Booker insisted. "He doesn't remember me, or where he is, or who he is."

"Joseph," Nicky murmured, mulling it over in his mouth like he was tasting it.

Joe smiled that wide, warm smile that made his eyes go all crinkly. "Yeah, Nico, that's me."

"Sébastien."

He turned. Andy beckoned him over with an unsheathed dagger. "Give them a moment."

"What's happening to him?" he asked her, voice low.

Andy didn't reply, instead toeing some broken crates and bottles that had gotten smashed up in the brawl. "The fuck happened here?"

Booker shrugged. "A fight."

"Over what?"

Booker shrugged again. He didn't remember. He'd been drunk for most of it.

Over by the alley wall, Nicky was swaying and Joe looped his arm around his shoulders. 

"What's happening to him?" Booker asked for what felt like the hundredth time. Why wouldn't anyone give him a straight answer? It must be bad. Really, really bad. _Fuck_.

Andy replied with a question of her own. "Did he hurt his head?"

"Yeah, he —" Booker gestured to the side of his head where Nicky's had had a gaping hole just a few minutes ago. "In the brawl, he —"

Andy waved it off. "Don't worry about Nicolas. It happens."

"What?" Booker looked back at Nicky and Joe. Nicky looked a little steadier on his feet; he was muttering something at Joe and Joe chuckled in reply. "What is happening?" Booker repeated.

"Amnesia," Andy replied with a shrug. Her dagger disappeared in the folds of her clothes. "Concussion. Whatever it's called. Every now and then, a head injury takes a while to heal and that —" she pointed to Nicky, who tried to take a step would have collapsed if Joe didn't still have his arm around his shoulders — "happens. Don't worry, it doesn't happen often. Once a century, on average."

Booker couldn't take his eyes off Nicky, who he had come to rely on to be the — well, the reliable one, the steady one, the unshakable one. And now he was unable to keep himself on his feet unsupported, eyes cloudy and unfocused. "That's horrible."

"He needs rest," Andy replied like she hadn't heard him. "Joseph!" 

Joe looked up.

Andy nodded her head towards the street. "Let's get him home."

Joe nodded. Staggering, he and Nicky followed Andy and Booker out onto the main street.

"Who am I?" Booker heard Nicky ask, and cast a glance over his shoulder. 

"You're my everything," Joe replied. "You're my life and my —"

"I think he meant his name, Joseph," Andy called without looking.

Joe glared at her back. 

"Nicolas," Booker said. "Your name is Nicolas."

"And you?"

"I'm Sébastien."

"And her?"

"Andrée," said Joe.

"Where are we?" asked Nicky.

"Paris," said Joe.

"Where are we going?"

"Home, so you can rest."

"Who are you again?"

Booker was wondering if he was going to go on like this the whole night. He was worse than his sons when they had been small.

Andy abruptly turned, making them all stagger lest they run into her. Nicky was blinking owlishly, his arm slipping off Joe's shoulders. He didn't sway anymore, but he was turning paler by the minute.

"I'll get some food," Andy said. "Can the two of you handle Nicolas?"

"Of course," said Joe.

"I suppose," said Booker.

"Who are you?" asked Nicky.

"I'll meet you at the house," Andy said, ignoring him. "Anything in particular you want?"

Booker and Joe shook their heads. 

Andy headed off with nothing more but a nod at them. 

Booker, Joe, and Nicky resumed their walk home. 

Nicky was quiet for a few minutes, then he asked, "Who are you?"

Booker sighed, but Joe answered all of his questions with unending patience.

"Hey, Sébastien?" 

Booker turned his head to Joe. "Yeah?"

Joe had let go of Nicky, who was now able to walk unsupported — Booker suspected he had been for a while, but any excuse Joe got to plaster himself to Nicky, he took — and instead pulled Booker into a side hug. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Booker stopped, perplexed. "You're asking me that?" 

Joe tilted his head in confusion. "You didn't get hurt in that brawl?"

Booker felt himself flush slightly and didn't even know why. He wished Joe would stop looking at him like that, expression inscrutable. "No, I did, of course I did, it was a brawl."

"So, are you okay?"

Booker made a show of inspecting the perfectly unmarred skin of his knuckles. "Evidently."

Joe looked a little exasperated. "That's not what I —" 

"Wait, where's Nicolas?" 

They looked around just in time to see him disappear around a street corner. Joe immediately sprinted after him, and Booker followed, if at a slower pace. By the time he reached the corner, Joe had already caught up to Nicky and was herding him back. 

"Where did you think you were going?" Joe asked, amusement lilting his voice. 

Nicky blinked. "I love you."

Joe laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders. "I love you too."

Nicky looked around, absently rubbed at his forehead. "Where are we?"

Not nearly close enough to the house, Booker thought as Joe and Nicky went through yet another string of questions. Booker understood Andy's urge to split very well now. 

As the night went on, though, Nicky's questions stopped coming so quickly. When Booker glanced at him, he saw he had gone even paler, with a sheen of sweat on his brow. Joe had one hand on his elbow.

Andy was already at the house when they finally made it inside. "What took you so long?" she asked, breaking off a piece of cheese from the wedge that lay unwrapped on the kitchen table. 

"Nico wandered off," Joe replied, poking at the parcels. 

"Hm," Andy said around the cheese. She eyed Booker, but he'd be damned if he could tell what she was thinking. "Have some food," she said, to all three of them. "Joseph, I found dried fruit. It's that one in the corner."

Joe perked up at once and unwrapped the parcel in question. He immediately shoved a handful of raisins into his mouth and beckoned Nicky with an apricot.

"I don't — I don't feel so good," Nicky mumbled. "I think I —" he didn't get further because he doubled over and threw up all over Andy's coat. 

Andy grimaced and stepped backwards. "I'll go change," she grunted. "And then drink," Booker heard her mutter as she disappeared into the washroom. 

Nicky was kneeling on the floor, breathing harshly with his arms around his midsection. Joe had his hand pressed on Nicky's back.

Booker knelt down. "What does he need?" he asked. 

"Water wouldn't hurt," Joe replied, rubbing Nicky's back and giving Booker a smile. " _Merci_."

By the time Booker returned with an almost overflowing cup, though, Nicky had laid down on his side. At first Booker thought he had died again. But Joe looked far too calm for that. When Joe put a finger to his lips, Booker just nodded. 

"Help me get him in bed," Joe whispered.

Booker nodded again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "T'as bien dormi, mon ami?" -- Fr. "Did you sleep well, my friend?"  
> "(Tu) chi sei?" -- It. "Who are you?"  
> "Sono Sébastian." -- It. "I am Sébastien."  
> "Du calme." -- Fr. "Calm down."  
> "Merci." -- Fr. "Thanks."


	2. Part One -- Addendum

On the upturned crate that they used as a bedside table, there stood a ceramic jug, a cup, and a bowl of dried apricots. Nicky blearily pushed himself up on his elbow, but when he reached for the jug, his hand shook so badly he thought better of it and withdrew. "Joseph?"

He was there within the minute. A glint was in his eye. "Ah, my gallant knight, you've awoken from your slumber. How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Nicky grunted. "Can you pour me a cup of water? I'm afraid I'd break it."

"Anything for you, light of my life, love of my heart, beacon of —"

"You can stop teasing me now."

Joe laughed. He sat on the edge of the bed — cot, really — and handed Nicky the cup. "What do you remember from yesterday?"

"After I died, not much," Nicky replied. But then — " _Madre di Dio_. Did I throw up on Andrée?"

Joe clicked his tongue. "You did."

" _Oddio mio_." 

"Why did you get involved, anyway?"

Nicky shrugged and took a drink of water. "I was drunk and angry at Matthieu."

"At Matthieu?"

"For throwing Sébastien out. It's cruel. Sébastien is not the most honourable man, I grant you, but he loves his sons more than even he himself knows. He needs them." He paused, because his head was swimming. He took another drink. "And Jean-Pierre is only fourteen," he continued. "He already lost his mother. He needs his father. And Sébastien needs his sons. Matthieu has no right to keep them from each other."

Joe looked thoughtful. "And yet you claim I tease you when I call you a gallant knight."

*

Two hundred years later, Nicky wonders why he never thought of saying all this to Booker himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Madre di Dio." -- It. "Mother of God."  
> "Oddio mio." -- It. "Oh my God."


	3. Part Two: Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Variation on the "you cried when your husband said he wasn't single" theme

_Norway, 20**_

Joe turns to gesture for the exit of the labyrinthine warehouse when more gunshots ring out — _rat-a-tat-tat-tat_ — and blood like fireworks explodes around the back of his head and he jerks and crumbles and lies still.

Nicky roars and swings around to where the shots came from. He's only got that tiny handgun, but he finds the shooter, hunched behind a balcony railing, and with one precise squeeze of the trigger, dispatches him. 

It all happens so fast Nile barely is able to register it all, much less react. By the time she finishes blinking, Nicky is already kneeling by Joe's side, one hand on his chest, the other clutching a fistful of Joe's sleeve. 

"Is he okay?" she asks, staggering over. She's still not used to death, neither her own nor her friends'. 

Nicky doesn't reply. He watches Joe's face, and damn, if she were Joe, the burning intensity of that gaze alone would be enough to call her back to the land of the living.

Nicky's jaw is tight. Nile has been learning to read him better and better. His outward stillness belies the raging turmoil churning inside him like a world-consuming maelstrom. Nile fears the day it breaks free and his outside acts on what his inside is feeling. 

Joe doesn't come alive with a gasp. He chokes, twitches a little while his body repairs the damage done to it. Nicky's hand still presses down on his chest. But there is a tiny sag to his shoulders now. 

"Joe," he whispers. He says his name like it's a revelation.

Joe, on the other hand, looks at him with big, almost child-like eyes, and lets out a very undignified "Whuh?"

"Hey."

"Who — what —" Joe pushes himself up on his elbows. "Who are you?"

If Nicky is surprised, he doesn't let it show. "I'm Nicky," he says instead. "You're Joe." He nods at a very confused Nile. "And that's Nile."

Joe turns his head. "Hello."

"Hi," Nile says, almost feeling shy. She wonders if she should panic. She turns to Nicky. "Is he okay?"

"Yes," Nicky replies and gets to his feet, helping Joe stand. He's calm, and it's not the calm that holds the rage at bay anymore; it's his usual, Nicky-calm. A sturdy, steadfast calm. "Or he will be, once we get out of this building and he gets some rest. Where's Andy?"

As if on cue, Andy pokes her head around the corridor. "What the fuck is taking you so long?"

"Joe got shot," Nicky replies, helping him stand. "In the head."

"Oh." Andy looks Joe up and down. "And is he —"

"I'm afraid so."

Andy sucks in an irritated breath through clenched teeth. "You can handle him?"

"Of course."

"Then let's go."

"Where?" Joe asks. 

"Out of here," Nicky replies. He tentatively lets Joe go, and though Joe sways a tiny bit, he stays on his feet. "Can you fight?"

Joe frowns. "I think so."

Nicky presses his scimitar in his hand.

Joe grins. "Yes. I can."

*

There's more shooters at the door, of fucking course there are. Nicky and Joe throw themselves into the fray, spinning and hacking and slashing, the mercenaries dropping around them like string-cut puppets. Andy and Nile stay inside the warehouse, flanking the door and covering the two. 

Joe dodges a burst of bullets — courtesy of the last mercenary standing — grabs him by the forearm and spins him right into Nicky, who plunges his sword deep into the mercenary's chest. The mercenary gasps, slumps, twitches, and is still. Nicky puts his foot against the mercenary's shoulder and tears his sword out. 

Joe is gaping like a fish. He completely ignores Andy and Nile when they stand by his side, staring at Nicky, covered head to toe in blood. Finally, he says, "You are very sexy like this. Would you like to go out some time?"

Nicky, wiping the blood off his blade, tells him, "My love, we have been going out for over nine hundred years."

Joe's gasp and wide eyes make Nile laugh despite the fact that they're in the middle of a dozen corpses. 

Andy, too, is smiling. But the mission isn't over yet, so she turns to Nile. "Nile, you got the files?"

Nile flashes the two thumb drives containing all the information on the white supremacist terrorist cell.

"Great. Nicky, Joe?"

Nicky, sheathing his sword, turns. Joe, having apparently just mustered up the courage to reach for him, drops his hand in bitter disappointment. 

"You good?"

"Not a scratch, boss," Nicky replies. "Joe will be fine after he sleeps it off." This last he says with his eyes on Nile. 

"All right. Let's get out of here."

They trek to the car down a winding mountain path. The sun has set fully, and the beams of their flashlights illuminate the snowflakes that are starting to fall. Andy is in front, Nile right behind her. Nicky normally brings up the rear, but Joe won't stop walking backwards to gape at him and almost tripping, so the two walk side-by-side. Andy fills Nile in on the details about the whole amnesia thing; Nile files it all away under 'stories to ask for around the dinner table.' 

Behind her, Joe and Nicky are talking in hushed tones and an even more motley mix of languages than usual. What she understands usually amounts to Joe asking who and where they are, Nicky replying quietly and patiently, and invariably followed by Joe telling Nicky he's 'sexy.'

" _Tu es très sexy_."

" _Du bist sehr sexy_."

" _Sei molto sexy_."

Something something, Nile doesn't even know what language that is, but yes, he uses the word 'sexy.'

She turns to Andy. "And you're sure this will be fixed with a nap?"

"Yup."

"But like, what if it's not?"

Andy gives her one of her looks. Part disappointed, part tired, part smug. "Nile, in my time, I've seen this happen more than I can count. It is always fine after a while. Always."

Nile does not mention that Andy thought that of both Lykon and herself. And in the end — 

She looks back at Joe and Nicky. They're walking close enough that they bump shoulders every now and then. Joe is nervously fiddling with his scarf. "I've been meaning to ask you," he mumbles in English, "if you're single, maybe you would like to go out sometime?"

Nicky smiles, and leans over to peck a quick kiss on Joe's cheek. "My love, we've been going out for nine hundred years."

Joe stares at him like he hung the moon, one hand absently on the spot Nicky kissed. "Whoa."

Nicky says simply, like he's commenting on the weather, "You are the love of my life, Joe."

"And you mine," Joe almost whispers.

"I know." 

They keep walking.

By the time they finally reach the car, the snow has settled like a blanket, muffling all sounds. Andy wipes the windshield free with one arm before she gets in. Nile takes shotgun, Nicky and Joe pile in the back, after Nicky has stashed their weapons and gear in the trunk. 

Andy drives faster than is probably advisable in this weather but hey. Nobody is on the road they could potentially endanger. Nile tries to read the battered Donald Duck comic that she found stashed in the glove compartment, but keeps glancing backwards at Nicky, who is cleaning his sword, and Joe, who's alternating between watching the scenery rush by, turning his head, and seeing Nicky and going wide-eyed. 

Nile closes the comic. "But like, why is this happening to Joe?"

Andy looks at her. "Head injury."

"Yeah, sure. I get that. But, like, you shot me through the head the day you kidnapped me."

Andy raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Nile continues. "And we all get shot in the head all the time and we're fine. Why is this different?"

Andy's eyes move back to the road. She shrugs. 

Nile turns in her seat to look at Joe more closely. He still has blood in his hair, his beard; Nile tries to remember where the injury had been. "Nicky?"

He doesn't say anything, just looks up.

"You went to medical school. Any theories?"

Nicky nods. "The hippocampus," he says. "It's crucial in the formation of memories." He reaches out and traces the side of the back of Joe's head with one finger. "It's here, somewhere. Could be that it needs longer to heal when it's damaged." Joe's eyes are fixed on Nicky's arm. He's a little cross-eyed that way. Nicky sits back with a shrug. "We cannot know for sure, of course."

"You're very sexy like this," Joe says, like he has dozens of times before. "Are you single?"

And like dozens of times before, Nicky replies with unending patience and a small smile. "My love, you and I have been together for more than nine hundred years."

This time, though, Joe doesn't gasp in surprise. Instead, his eyes fill with tears and he gruffly turns away. "There's no need to be cruel about it," he says through a sniffle.

Nile desperately wants to laugh, but holds it in. Barely. Joe looks more pitiful than a cat that just had to endure a bath. 

Nicky has his head tilted, and his hand strokes down Joe's arm. "I'm not," he says quietly, gently. "We really are that old."

"I know," Joe replies. His lip is quivering. Nile bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Andy's shoulders are shaking, too, but she doesn't look away from the road. "There's no way someone like you would spend all that time with me."

Nicky laughs, a quiet sound, almost nothing but a hum. "But I did. And I will do it again. Gladly."

Joe finally looks at him. "You are not lying?"

"Never, Joe. Never." He pauses. "Do you want me to prove it?"

Joe gives the tiniest of nods, and Nicky leans towards him, and Joe leans forwards like Nicky's pulling him in, and they kiss. 

When Nicky sits back, Joe's eyes are big and shiny. And then a tear rolls into his beard. "Truly?" he whispers. "I have been blessed with this for nine hundred years?"

"I have been blessed with you, yes."

Joe is shaking his head in wonder. "I am dreaming," he whispers, "surely I am dreaming, or else I have died and gone to Paradise for this is too perfect to be real life."

Nicky snorts. "I can assure you that you are both wide awake and very alive."

"Marry me."

"I already did."

"Right." Joe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, he looks out the window. 

Nile knows what he'll say when his eyes fall on Nicky again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe tells Nicky "You're very sexy" in French, German, and Italian.
> 
> Beth about this chapter, verbatim: "Nicky and Joe are so cute together, but to be perfectly honest, I would throw myself into the ocean if I had to endure their adorableness for centuries."


	4. Part Two -- Addendum

Joe's head is squarely on the breakfast table and is also pounding violently. Nicky is next to him, one hand rubbing Joe's back while he reads and sips coffee. 

Nile pours herself a bowl of cereal, and the noise is enough to send Joe groaning, his head spinning. 

"I'm dying," he moans.

"Hm. No, you're not," Nicky replies.

"You can be a cold man, Nicky," Joe says into the table.

"Not what you thought yesterday," Nile mumbles through a mouthful of cereal.

Joe turns his head to eye her. Cheeky little thing, that one. Then he swivels his gaze to Nicky. "What was it this time? 'Hot?' 'Stunning?' 'Magnificent'?"

"'Sexy,'" Nicky replies, turning a page in his book.

Joe groans and moves to his previous position of his forehead pressed to the blessedly cool table top. "I apologise for my lack of flair."

"You were regrowing part of your brain, Joe, I won't hold it against you," Nicky replies with tender amusement. His hand is still moving up and down Joe's back.

"You deserve more than just a crude 'sexy,'" Joe mutters. 

"You wrote him entire libraries' worth of poetry during your lifetime," Nile says. 

"And if I wrote three times as many, it would not do him justice."

Nile rolls her eyes. Joe can't see it, but he feels it.

Nicky is laughing softly. His foot is nudging Joe's under the table and Joe musters up the energy and muscle coordination required to nudge back.


	5. Part Three: Andy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to the content warnings of the work as a whole, this chapter additionally features mentions of rape of underage girls. Reader discretion it's advised.

_Duchy of Austria, 1432_

  
Joe was trembling with rage. Beside him, Nicky held his longbow at full draw, still as a statue, unfazed by the guards rushing towards him. But Joe saw the anger in his face, the ferocity in his eyes.

Nicky released, and the arrow flew from the bow. The first guard crumbled. Joe only heard Quỳnh's bow, half a heartbeat after Nicky's, then her arrow whizzed past his ear and the next guard fell, the arrow lodged in his left eye.

Andy and Joe exchanged one glance, then they ran to meet their enemies head-on. Andy's axe cut off limbs and sent heads rolling. Joe's scimitar sliced across throats and bore into hearts. Quỳnh and Nicky covered them, their bows singing in accord.

Within minutes, the castle courtyard was covered in bodies. Joe shook the blood off his sword. Quỳnh moved past him, recovering arrows. Andy breathed harshly, her axe still ready and gazing about her wildly. 

"There will be more coming," Nicky said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the bells. "We should get to the bastard as soon as we can."  
Andy nodded. She turned around.

Later, Joe would not be able to tell what exactly had happened. It happened so fast. She bent down to wrench one of Nicky's arrows free, and in that split second, the corpse she was bending over turned out to not be a corpse yet, and in that split second, she got a stone to the side of her head. She fell, and the corpse that wasn't a corpse smashed the stone down on her head two-handed, once, twice, before two arrows plunged into his back, followed by Joe's scimitar only a breath later. 

Joe staggered back, not even having the strength to pull his scimitar free. Nicky was beside him, his eyes wide with naked horror. Quỳnh was kneeling over Andy, murmuring to her in her own language. Joe stared at Andy's head. Or what was left of it. There was a pink — something spilling out of her skull, and Joe turned away abruptly. Nicky took his hand, his own eyes now tightly shut.

Joe's blood was rushing in his ears, and Nicky squeezed his hand so hard he felt sure he was going to break some bones. He heard Quỳnh, distantly, only making out half the words. 

It took so long, so agonisingly long. But finally, Andy jerked and twitched and shot into a sitting position. Joe sagged in relief, and Nicky staggered towards her, his bow discarded. Quỳnh held Andy's face in her hands, smiling and crooning. "There you are, my love."

Andy smiled back and touched Quỳnh's cheek with one finger. "You are beautiful," she said. In English. Joe frowned. Why would she be speaking that pathetic language? They hadn't even been on that insignificant little rock for a hundred years.

Nicky was kneeling in front of Andy, his hand outstretched. "I'm relieved you're well," he said earnestly in his own dialect.

Andy narrowed her eyes at him. "Is he a threat?" This she said in Mandarin.

Quỳnh laughed. "No, my love. He is our brother. And so is Joe."

Joe understood what was happening now. Andy assured him it was fine, it was just a 'hiccup' every now and then, but he still couldn't shake his fear. He himself had evaded it so far, but he had seen it happen to Nicky once and to Quỳnh twice. It had been harrowing.

"What are we doing here?" asked Andy in Classical Latin while Quỳnh hauled her to her feet.

"We are here to kill the lord of this castle," replied Quỳnh. She stuck to her own tongue. Her face had gone grim. "He claims he has _droit du seigneur_."

"The hell is that supposed to be?" Andy asked in Frisian. 

Quỳnh and Nicky made the same face at the same time, which would have been funny in any other situation. Joe cast a look over his shoulder. No reinforcements yet. 

"He claims he has the right to the village girls' first — night," said Quỳnh.

Andy gasped. "That has never been a thing anywhere at any point in time!" Classical Latin again. 

"Exactly." Nicky got to his feet and handed Andy her axe. "And that's why we're going to kill this bastard."

Joe didn't know the language that Andy replied in, but he got the gist from her tone and body language. _Damn right we are._

* * *

With Andy's compromised state, Quỳnh wordlessly took the lead. They fought their way to the keep, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Joe felt no remorse. Anyone who defended such a vile man deserved death, and worse. 

At the door of the keep, Joe knelt down and started to administer the packets of gunpowder to the hinges. Nicky stood at his back, an arrow nocked and ready. Just as Joe was threading the fuse into the first packet, though, he felt the all-too-familiar whisper of a blade at his throat. He froze, only moving his eyes.

It was Andy, her eyes even wilder than they usually were. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Nicky with his bow half-raised, torn between shooting anyone who dared lay a hand on Joe and the fact that this someone was Andy. 

"Are they a threat?" Andy hissed in Hebrew over her shoulder at Quỳnh. 

"No, Andromache," Quỳnh replied with laughter bubbling in her throat. "They're our brothers. Put down your axe and let Yusuf work."

Andy narrowed her eyes at Joe, then she took the axe away. 

Joe went back to setting up the gunpowder.

"What are we doing here?" he heard Andy ask. When Quỳnh told her, she swore, loudly and forcefully. "That has never been a thing anywhere!"   
Joe felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. It was Andy again, and he was really glad the murder in her eyes was not directed at him this time. "Hurry up so we can finish this motherfucker," she growled.

"Maybe stop interrupting me then," he grunted back.

Andy hissed impatiently, twirling her axe. Quỳnh pulled her back when Joe lit the fuse and stood. They took cover, and when the explosion took the door off its hinges, they moved in: first Nicky, checking that the room beyond the door was clear, then turning to cover the rear. Quỳnh and Andy went to the next door, Quỳnh already holding her short bow at full draw. Joe glanced up when Nicky joined him again; he'd abandoned his longbow, it being too cumbersome indoors. 

Andy kicked the door open; the guard behind it barely had time to gasp before her axe tore his chest open. There were three more guards at the far side of the room, armed with crossbows; two managed to shoot, the third got an arrow in the shoulder before he could, and the other two went down before they could reload. Neither Quỳnh nor Andy left anyone for Joe or Nicky. And Andy didn't wait for them, either; she sped up the winding staircase like a hurricane; Quỳnh, Joe, and Nicky had to dodge the bodies she sent tumbling down.

By the time they made it to the next floor, Andy was nowhere to be seen. "You go left," Quỳnh told Joe and Nicky, and sped off, not needing to wait for their answer. 

Nicky kicked down the door and immediately had to duck out of the way of a spear. He rolled forwards, yanking the guard down with him by grabbing his spear. Joe stepped up and stabbed the guard in the back. There were only three more guards in the room, and Nicky was already killing one of them; Joe made quick work of the other two.

Then, when all guards were dead, they turned and went back the way they came to follow Quỳnh. If Andy had moved through that room, there would not have been a single warm body left in it. 

They hurried up another set of stairs; they heard Quỳnh yelling, as she often did in battle, shouting taunts and insults. She was just slicing open a man's throat by the time Joe and Nicky reached her. The man crumbled, and Quỳnh straightened. Andy was there, too, her axe dripping with blood. 

Quỳnh wiped blood off her face and caught Joe's eye. She jerked her head to the door. "He's in there." Joe nodded. Nicky tightened the grip around his sword.   
Andy went to the door and chopped it to pieces with her axe. Then she slammed her shoulder into the splintered boards and strode inside.

The room was opulent. Far too much so. The walls had a leaf pattern painted on it. There was a bed commandeering the middle of the room, the curtains tied back with golden tassels. Next to it was a prayer nook. Joe didn't think this man's God was going to welcome him with open arms.

The man in question was in his forties and holding a sword that was made for purely decorative purposes, going by the heavy gemstones on the hilt. Andy, uncaring, strode up to him and disarmed him with two blows before she kicked his legs out from under him and pressed her knee into his back.

"I don't know why" Andy growled at him, "but I am going to kill you now." And then she did. 

She wiped the blood off her blade on his finely embroidered silk shirt and turned to her friends. "Why did I kill him again?"

Quỳnh told her. Andy paled. Then she spat on the corpse.


	6. Part Three -- Addendum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features mentions/discussions of rape of underage girls. Reader discretion is advised.

"I killed someone yesterday," Andy said, outstretched on the floor of their hut, head in Quỳnh's lap. 

"You did," said Quỳnh, massaging Andy's temples.

"Why?" Andy asked, and winced in pain. "What for, I mean. Ugh."

"If you're going to hurl, please don't do it in here," said Joe, walking by. "Also, he forced himself on a lot of young girls, barely out of childhood."

Andy nodded. "I'm glad I killed him."

Quỳnh dipped a towel into the water bowl beside her and ran the wonderful, cold wetness over Andy's forehead. "So am I."

Nicky knelt down beside her. "Here's some bread. Try to eat if you can."

"Thank you," said Quỳnh, and Andy could hear the smile in her voice. Andy mumbled something resembling "thank you," as well. Nicky squeezed her shoulder before he got up and went outside.

Andy sighed. For a few moments she thought of nothing but Quỳnh's soft thighs and her strong hands massaging her scalp. The bolt of the door clattered again, and the straw on the floor of the hut rustled as Joe came back.

"I have some rosemary and feverfew," he said, his voice thankfully low. "They are said to help with pain." 

"Thank you, Yusuf," said Quỳnh, and Andy smiled, eyes still closed.

"I should get my skull smashed in more often," she muttered, "if it means you guys fawning over me like this." She blinked up at Quỳnh.

Quỳnh bent down and put a kiss on her forehead. "If you want me to fawn over you, love, you only have to ask."


	7. Part Four: Booker

_Marseille, 1822_

Booker's head felt like someone had split it in twain with an axe. He felt worse than all of his previous hangovers combined. And given that one or two or several of his hangovers had followed dying from alcohol poisoning...

He groaned into his sweat-caked pillow.

_Once a century my ass._

They'd come to him this time. They'd needed a forger. And like an idiot, he'd agreed. And then also accompanied them on the heist. Like an idiot.

The heist had gone well, that wasn't the problem, but then they'd decided to celebrate in the pub. And they'd got piss drunk. And the last thing Booker remembered was the brawl he and Nicky got themselves into behind a completely different alehouse by the docks.

Booker turned his head and swept his gaze over the tiny room. He was in his house in Marseille — well. House was maybe a little generous. Ramshackle hidey-hole was maybe a more apt description. There was the house he'd lived in with his wife, but that belonged to Matthieu now. 

Booker rolled out of bed. If he had ended up here after last night, the chances were good that the other three were here, too, and that meant that chances were very good that Nicky was currently whipping up the best breakfast known to mankind. 

He stumbled into the kitchen and nearly into Andy. He mumbled an apology, but she grinned. 

"Look who's finally up," she said, one hand on his shoulder. "How are you?"

"Bad," he muttered. 

She snorted. 

"He's awake?" Joe popped up behind Andy. Andy stepped aside so Joe could wrap Booker in a tight hug.

"And what was that for?" Booker asked, bewildered.

"Congratulations," Joe replied simply, "on your first amnesia spell."

*

"Is he okay?" Joe asked as Nicky helped an uncooperative Booker to his feet. The sun was just rising, shining bright in the puddles of unidentifiable liquid that had formed in the alley behind the pub. A few seagulls were perched on the overflowing rubbish bins, picking out food scraps and screeching like they'd lost their tiny bird minds every time Booker or Nicky got within two metres of them.

"He lost his memory," Nicky replied, leaning away from Booker so he didn't get a flailing hand in the face. 

"Ah."

"Who the — lemme go," Booker slurred. "Who're you?"

"I'm Nicolas," Nicky replied, not letting go. "That's Joseph. Do you know your own name?"

Booker stilled for a moment, evidently thinking. "No?"

"Your name's Sébastien," Joe replied. He stood at Booker's other side to check if the head wound was already healed. Underneath the blood and grime, the skin was whole and unbroken. Joe clapped Booker on the shoulder. "Let's get you home, _petit frère._ "

Booker mumbled something under his breath, but didn't move until Nicky tugged him along.

Joe, Nicky, and Booker walked through Marseille. Booker was steady enough to walk on his own, but Joe and Nicky made sure they were close enough if anything happened.

"Where is Andy, by the way?" Nicky asked after a while.

"Last I saw of her, she had a very fine looking gentleman wrapped around her finger," Joe replied, and snorted in amusement. "I don't think we'll be seeing her before noon."

"Good for her." Nicky yawned.

They continued on, past shops opening for the day and dock workers yawning their way to work. Among the buzz of the town waking up, Joe didn't hear the humming at first, but once he picked it out, he couldn't place it. Joe turned his head, trying to find its source. "What is that noise?"

Nicky laughed quietly. "Sébastien is singing."

Joe whipped his head around. "By God, he is." Booker had his eyes half closed. His lips were moving. Joe strained his ears to make out the words.

" _Allons enfants de la Patrie_

 _Le jour de gloire est arrivé_ …"

*

Joe was laughing so hard he almost fell over. "You couldn't remember your name, or our names, but you still knew all of that by heart!"

Even Andy joined in his mirth.

Nicky stayed quiet. But his lips twitched every now and then before he could school them back into a mathematically straight line. By the fifth time it happened, Booker snapped, "What?" 

Nicky started to grin. "You wanted a very specific baguette. You were very insistent that you needed it right there and you needed it right then."

*

"No, no," Booker was shaking his head, frowning. "That's not it. That's not where it is."

"Sébastien, _petit frère, what_ are you looking for?" asked Joe, taking a hold of Booker's sleeve as a precaution before he wandered off.

"A baguette," Booker mumbled. He didn't try tugging his sleeve free, he just vaguely stared down the street. "It's somewhere. I think." He looked at Joe, then Nicky, who was standing behind Joe. "I need to find that baguette." His tone was pleading. 

"Is that a specific baguette or would any one do?" asked Nicky, fighting down a yawn.

Booker didn't reply, instead continuing to stare desperately down the street. Joe tugged at his sleeve, but it was like trying to move an oak.

Joe turned to Nicky. "I'll take him, you go home."

"Are you —" Nicky was cut off by another enormous yawn. He blinked at Joe apologetically.

"Yes, I'm sure. Go home. Go to sleep. I can handle him."

" _Ah, d'accord_." Nicky squeezed Joe's arm, Joe gave him a smile, and Nicky disappeared into the ever-growing crowd. Then Joe led Booker to the nearest boulangerie.

But Booker shook his head and moved right past it. And then he did the same with the next. And the next. "Are you sure none of these boulangeries will do?" Joe asked. He was getting tired. He wanted to go home and eat and tuck Booker in and then tuck himself in next to Nicky. 

Booker looked around desperately. Tears were shimmering in his eyes. Good grief, this was worse than when he was drunk. " _Je sais pas_ ," he muttered. " _Je ne sais rien_." He sniffled.

"Aw, come on." Joe put an arm around Booker's shoulders before he could burst into tears. Booker slumped into him. "No need for that. Come, there's another boulangerie on that corner; let's get you a baguette."

The boulangerie was tiny, so Joe left Booker outside. Like a dog, he noted in amusement. But at least he could leave him outside. If it was Andy or Nicky with the same condition, they would surely wander off. Booker seemed content to stay put and fixate on whatever caught his attention.

When Joe exited the boulangerie, Booker was next to the door, examining a loose button on his jacket cuff in ceaseless fascination. " _Et voilà_." Joe held the baguette out to Booker.

Booker took one look at it, then sniffed and went back to his button. "It's shit."

"You're right," Joe immediately agreed. "What a horrible baguette! I am insulted, nay, offended they even sell something like this. I wouldn't even give it to a dog. _Wallahi_ , I wouldn't even give it to a rat."

Booker nodded along. "Horrible," he agreed, "horrible."

Joe, of course, did not discard the spurned baguette, and instead tucked it under his arm. Bread was bread, food was food, even if it wasn't to Booker's currently exacting standards. And anyway, Booker was happy to trail after Joe, the offending baguette forgotten.

*

"You were right, though," said Joe, "it's a pretty bad baguette."

Nicky nodded, eyeing the half-finished bread with disgust. "I never thought it was possible to mess up bread this much."

Booker poked at it. "Why'd you keep it, then?"

"Even a bad-tasting baguette can have its uses," Andy said. "Leave it a day to harden and —"

"Andromache!" Nicky interrupted, looking scandalised. "There are children present!" He pointed at Booker.

"What," Andy replied in completely unbelievable innocence. "A hardened baguette makes a good baton."

Joe and Nicky sniggered, and Booker rolled his eyes. 

A cup appeared under his nose. He blinked down into it, then at Joe holding it out to him. He blinked back into the cup. The contents were of a muddled orange colour. " _Qu'est-ce que c'est_?"

"Carrot and apple juice." Joe shrugged. "I heard it said it helps with hangovers."

Booker sighed. "Can't hurt, can it?" he said, and downed the drink. "Blagh."

Joe patted him on the shoulder. "Come on. Go back to bed."

Booker wasn't complaining about that and let himself be manoeuvred back to the bedroom. Joe fluffed the pillow into shape before Booker collapsed back onto the bed. He heard Joe close the window shutters, then leave the room. He sighed.

The door creaked again and Booker blinked one eye open. It was Joe, holding something wrapped in cloth.

"I have ice," Joe said, voice lowered. 

"How'd you get that?" Booker muttered while Joe carefully draped the wonderfully cold packet over his forehead. 

"I have my ways," Joe replied. Booker heard the smile in his voice. "Hey, by the way."

"I thought you wanted me to sleep," Booker grunted, but opened his eyes again. He almost couldn't make Joe out in the gloom. 

"Thank you, Sébastien," Joe said. He was grinning. "We couldn't have pulled off that mission without your excellent work."

Booker was too tired and in too much pain to say anything other than a slurred, " _De rien_."

Joe squeezed his shoulder. " _Repose toi maintenant_."

Booker grunted. Then he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Petit frère" -- Fr. "Little brother"  
> "Ah, d'accord." -- Fr. "Oh, all right."  
> "Je sais pas. Je ne sai rien." -- Fr. "I dunno. I know nothing."  
> "Et voilà." -- Fr. "Here you go."  
> "Wallahi" -- Ar. "I swear to God"  
> "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" -- Fr. "What's this?"  
> "De rien." -- Fr. "You're welcome/no problem"  
> "Repose toi maintenant." -- Fr. "Rest now."  
> Booker sings la Marseillaise, the French national anthem.  
> While the baguette in its iconic form became popular in the 18th century, the name "baguette" didn't appear until 1920. But that's okay, because — well, I said so. Let's just assume that since they all speak French here anyway, they call it whatever it was called at the time.  
>   
> Thank you for reading!  
> I've marked this as complete, because these are all the ideas I have had for this scenario so far, but I might add to them if I have any, so stay bookmarked/subscribed (if you want)!  
> And if _you_ have any ideas or prompts, feel free to let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, thanks to Beth for the beta-read! She still hasn't seen this movie and I still don't know if I deserve her.  
> Also thanks to Estelle for proofreading the French.


End file.
